Touching Eternity (Touch Series 1.5) Page 7

  A snarl left him before he could stop it. The wall took his frustrations with a vicious kick. Her whimper tore at him.

  “Stop crying!” Panic edged into his plea. He dropped down in front of her, grabbed her shoulders and shook her. “Stop crying, Amalie!”

  Eyes the color of a summer sky rose up, wet with tears and brimming with fear met his over the folds of her arms. “Don’t hurt me!” she pleaded.

  His hands dropped away. He fell back on his haunches, glowered. “I’m not going to hurt you, stupid. You’re such a big baby!” He wiped his damp palms on his pants. “Come on. I’ll play your dumb game. Just quit bawling.”

  She sniffled, wiped her nose on her arm. “I’m not a baby!”

  He snorted, got to his feet. “Sure you’re not.” he stretched his hand out to her, hesitant. He hated people touching him, but didn’t mind it so much when it was her. “You can have my turn.”

  Her face was still streaked with tears, but she smiled, slow, tentative. “I’m going to hide real good this time!”

  ***

  Isaiah jolted, bolted upright, his heart lodged somewhere in his throat. Darkness pressed around him, crushing him in the memories…the nightmares. God would he never be free of them? Of her?

  He swiped damp hands over his sweaty face, back into his hair, struggling to control his breathing. His gaze swept over the dark interior of the Buick, at the back of Lew’s head, the side of Bruce’s face, the stretch of nothingness all around them. Had he fallen asleep? It couldn’t have been for very long.

  Through the windshield, the headlights sparked off the silver gates guarding home, and his stomach muscles clenched. He had to bite his lip to keep from telling Lew to pull over and let him out. He had to remind himself he had no reason to run. He had done nothing wrong. He’d stopped it before it could go too far, hadn’t he? He’d destroyed them both to keep her safe. Didn’t that count for something?

  No, he realized as the car rolled through the opening, into the circular driveway paved in marble. It wasn’t enough. His betrayal, he would never be able to pay that back. What he’d done to Amalie…he deserved hell. He deserved torture. He deserved this!

  A new sort of apprehension iced his skin as a chilling realization struck him — his sanity would never survive this place.

  Chapter 7

  Amalie

  Four walls of tiles. One floor of laminate. One ceiling speckled with glittered stucco. One tub. One sink. One toilet. Amalie stood immobilized on the threshold between her bedroom and a bathroom she’d used a million times.

  Behind her, October poured a sick, gray light into her room, darkening all the corners. The heavily regulated oatmeal perfumed the air with its aroma of burned rubber, overcooked sewage and medication. Rivers of ice flowed through her veins, hardening in her system until she was sure any movement would result in the shattering of limbs.

  Her gaze flittered to the shower head, dripping steadily into the china basin. It shot to the sink faucet. Her stomach knotted. Bile coated her throat.

  It’s not the same! It wasn’t the same. She had control here. She could turn it off!

  With terror chilling the inner linings of her abdomen, she edged into the room. Her kneecaps squeaked in protest. The floor was colder than usual against the bottom of her feet as she shuffled to the sink and stopped. There was a tremor in her fingers as she reached for the nozzle.

  The first pulse of rushing water sent her heart scuttling into her throat. Her bowels turned. Cold sweat pooled beneath her arms, trickled down her spine.

  Breathe! She willed herself, squeezing her eyes closed and counting slowly to twenty. You’ve done this a billion times!

  The cold water was a shock straight to the soul. One splash to her face and she was back in the coffin, back in that room, being lowered into the metal bin. The water was reaching for her, rolling over her, pulling her under…drowning her. She couldn’t breathe!

  She surfaced with a choked gasp. It took several attempts before she could snap the water off and stagger out of the bathroom at a run.

  Outside, the ocean roared. It competed with the thump of her heart beating an erratic tattoo within the confines of her chest. Her knees crumpled beneath her like tinfoil. She hit the hardwood floor with her palms, sunk until her burning cheek rested against the coolness. She closed her eyes.

  ***

  “Amalie! It’s not funny!”

  Squishing her giggles behind her palm, Amalie darted past the marble statue of Venus and quickly ducked behind the God Ares. The smooth slab of stone pressed cool against the sweat dampening her dress to her spine. She closed her eyes a moment, relishing the relief from the angry sun.

  It was too hot to be out. Even the birds had taken shelter amongst the twisted branches of the trees. But Amalie hadn’t seen Isaiah in months, six to be exact. Not since Christmas. Not since he’d been shipped off back to that stupid school of his. And this was their game, scorching summer or blistering winter. This was theirs. Whatever happened between the times he came home no longer existed, they were no longer important. He was home. He was with her again. She wasn’t alone anymore. She wasn’t scared.

  “We’re getting too old for this!” But there was laughter in his voice. “I’m going inside for ice cream. Better come out or I’ll eat yours!”

  He would, too! She thought, wrinkling her nose. But she stayed. Some traditions were just too important to break, even for ice cream.

  The soft rustle of his feet against grass drew closer. Amalie straightened. The muscles of her stomach tightened. Her heart thundered. She bit her lip, biding her time.

  She heard him sigh. “I had a surprise for you, but if you’re going to—”

  Game forgotten, she poked her head around the statue, her eyes wide. “What surprise?”

  Beautiful in the black trousers and white dress shirt of his school uniform, Isaiah grinned. He raised a hand and scooped back the long fringes of hair falling into his breathtaking eyes.

  “I don’t know if I want to give it to you now, making me look for you like that.”

  “That isn’t fair!”

  He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Well, neither is you making me run all over the place.” He tipped his head to the side. “Are you going to come out from behind there?”

  Scowling at him, she stepped out, and watched him go rigid. The smile slipped off his face about the same time as his coloring. His eyebrows scuttled up his forehead as his eyes widened to saucer-size. The muscles in his jaw flexed. His Adam’s apple bobbed. He took a step back like she’d grown another head, like he had no idea who she was.

  “What?” she demanded defensively, dropping her gaze to the white sundress with large, purple lavenders splattered all over.

  He closed his eyes, shook his head. “Nothing.” He opened his eyes, blinked them, thrust out a hand. “Here!”

  Amalie jumped, not expecting to nearly be punched in the nose by the thing in his hand.

  Isaiah winced, drew back his arm slightly. “Sorry.” He cleared his throat. “Here.”

  She looked down at the offering with a bit of surprise. It was white and slightly crumpled like old tissue. “What is it?”

  Now it was his turn to look down at his hand. “It’s a…hair…thing.” He circled his own head with his free hand. “You put it in your hair.”

  Cautious, she took it from him, startled when he jerked back at the first brush of their fingers. He cleared his throat again, stuffed his hands into his pockets and muttered an apology. Slanting him an odd glance, she turned her attention to the offering.

  It was scraps of fabric bunched together and restricted with a clip. She turned the clip over, smoothed out the crushed folds so they fell open around her palm.

  “A lily!” she exclaimed, overjoyed by the gift. She raised her eyes to his. “Where’d you get it?”

  He shrugged, his gaze suddenly too fascinated by everything else but her. “Some guy was selling them by the school when I was leaving
,” he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Made me…” he cleared his throat. “Made me think of you.”

  Beaming, she scooped back the strands at her left temple and pinned them in place with the flower. She patted it to make sure it would stay in place, spread her arms open wide and tilted her head.

  “Well? How do I look? Do you like it?”

  He looked like he was choking on something, like he was in pain. He seemed to be having a hard time swallowing. His face had gotten very red and he couldn't seem to keep his eyes off her.

  Her heart sunk a little. Her arms lowered back down to her sides.

  “You don’t like it.” She bit her lip to keep it from wobbling.

  “No!” he shouted, a little too loud. “I mean yes! Yes, I like it…a lot.” He exhaled shakily. “You look beautiful, Ams.”

  She smiled. “I love it.” Once certain he wouldn’t bolt, she took a cautious step forward, hooked her arms around his neck and drew him in. “Thank you!”

  He was as rigid as the statue of Ares, but she could feel his heart hammering a little too fast against hers. Slowly, tentatively, he raised his arms and wrapped them around her middle. The familiar feel of him, the smell of him poured over her like the gentle rush of waves over sand. She closed her eyes and let herself melt into him.

  “I missed you,” she whispered.

  He pressed his lips to her temple, sighed. “I missed you, too.”

  ***

  Her eyes flew open and Amalie found herself staring down the length of her floor to the shadows beneath her bed. A pool of moisture beneath her cheek had her pushing to a sitting position and wiping at her face with the back of her hand. She never felt herself cry, but the proof glistened against the hardwood.

  Stupid! He wasn’t worth crying over anymore. He’d made his choice and he hadn’t picked her. He’d forgotten her. He’d left her behind, deserted and abandoned her. He’d left her…alone and unwanted.

  She was unwanted.

  She was unnatural. No one wanted her. No one cared. She was defective, something useless and broken. Her own mother hadn’t wanted her. Her father hated her. The world shunned her and the only person she had ever loved, truly and with all her heart and soul, couldn’t stand the sight of her, couldn’t stand the thought of ever being with her. She repulsed him. Her disease disgusted him. He didn’t want to be with someone crazy. He couldn’t love someone crazy. He’d found someone else, someone that made him happy. Someone normal. He loved this other person. He wanted her. She wasn’t crazy. She wasn’t ruined, tarnished or broken, this girl he loved and wanted.

  God, why was she even alive? What was her purpose? Why would He put her on this earth if she wasn’t allowed to live? What had she done to deserve this torture? What was her crime?

  Across the room, the door clicked softly open. She couldn’t bring herself to look up.

  Tomas was early…again.

  ***

  “What’s that?”

  Instinctively, Amalie’s hand flew to the clip in her hair, her heart somewhere at her feet. “A…A hairclip?” she whispered, her voice wavering.

  Her father had never looked so deranged, so unhinged as he stared, horrified and disgusted, at the beautiful ornament. Amalie shrunk in her chair, wishing she could melt into the leather, disappear from sight. She wished she’d thought to remove the gift, hide it as she had for weeks. But it made her think of Isaiah and his arms around her and his smile bright just for her and she couldn’t.

  “Where did you get it?”

  Her breathing was hard now, erratic and unnaturally ragged. Her mind spun with answers, the first to tell him the truth. But something stopped her. It was the possibility that Isaiah might get in trouble that held her tongue.

  “I…I found it…” The lie came too easily.

  “Where?” The single word cut through tightly clenched teeth as her father tore around the desk separating them to stand glowering down at her.

  Her tongue plastered to the dry notch at the top of her mouth, making it nearly impossible to answer, but she did. “In the hall—”

  The lily was torn from her, uprooting strands of hair in the process. The tears burning behind her eyes were both from pain and terror as she leapt to her feet, torn between snatching it back and running.

  “Please let me keep it!” she pleaded. “Please! It’s not dangerous.”

  But he wasn’t listening. He marched past her to the hearth built into the wall of his study. He didn’t look quite steady as he snatched up the lighter from the mantle.

  “Daddy! No!” She was running to him, her heart a terrified rabbit in her throat. “Daddy, please! Please! Don’t! Please, Daddy!”

  Even though she grabbed his elbow, hooked both arms around his and yanked, he set the clip on fire with a deft flick of his fingers. The fabric instantly caught ablaze with an audible woorf.

  “No!” Her wail rioted off the walls in a sound of pure anguish.

  She dove after it when he flung it distastefully into the empty grate. He didn’t try to stop her, but stepped back and watched with a curl of his lips as she tried desperately to extinguish the flames lapping at the flower like wolves on fresh meat. But she was too late. Her fingers were blackened, blistered and bleeding, but the lily was gone.

  “Why?” Sobs shook her enter body as she twisted around to face the man moving casually back to the desk. “Why? It was just a hairclip. It couldn’t do any harm!”

  “I don’t need to explain myself to you, Amalie,” he replied calmly, composed once more now that the object of his distain was gone. He flattened his hands on a stack of folders resting on the edge of his desk and pressed down. Amalie thought she heard the crunch of glass shattering. “I’m in charge here!”

  ***

  It was a crazy notion. She knew it wouldn’t work, but there was a small spark of hope in her chest that maybe this time, just maybe, they forgot to lock the door. Maybe this time, no one was standing outside, armed to the teeth as if she were some wild animal. Maybe this time, she’d be allowed to step over the threshold to her room alone.

  The doorknob fit in the palm of her hand the way a block of ice fits in an ice cube tray. It burned her skin as she coiled her fingers around it, twisted and yanked.

  The latch disengaged. The door slipped from the framework and swept open. Amalie jolted back, clutching her hands to her pounding heart.

  It was open. Her door was open. It was open and no one was waiting for her. There was no one in the corridor, no one to grab her, no one to stop her. It was an open window of possibilities. It was a small taste of freedom she hadn’t had in so long. All she had to do was take those steps, one foot in front of the other. Five steps. Five steps and she’d be free.

  Her heel began to lift as her heart did.

  No! She scrambled back, away. It was a trap. It was a test. They were waiting for her to give them a reason to grab her. They were waiting for her to mess up. It was a trick.

  Dizzy with panic, she slammed the door shut and hurried away from it.

  I wasn’t there. I didn’t touch it.

  She backed into the terrace doors, slid to the floor and pulled her knees to her chest.

  They were coming. Any minute now, they would barge into the room and drag her for more tests. Any minute now. Any minute. Any minute…what were they waiting for?

  She hugged her knees tighter and rocked and waited and rocked and waited.

  Any minute now.

  Chapter 8

  Isaiah

  His tiny, ten year old frame was an abandoned ship lost in a sea of silk. He could roll and roll and keep rolling for years before reaching the edge of the bed. The vastness of it never failed to unnerve him. What if he really did get lost? What if he was swallowed by the mattress? He kept sinking deeper into it every time he moved. So he lay rigid, a board in the middle of the bed, staring at the canopy overhead.

  When the door across the room clicked open, he was upright in an instant. His fingers fiste
d, prepared to go down fighting whoever it was.

  The solitary light on the nightstand washed over a tiny face, blue eyes and hair the color of pennies.

  “Isaiah?” The soft whisper barely reached across the room.

  He frowned. “What are you doing?” He pushed back the blankets weighing him down. “You’re supposed to be in your own room!”

  The door opened wider and Amalie scuffled inside in her lacy white nightgown, her hair released from its braid and spiraling down her back. She edged in deeper and quickly shut the door.

  “What are you doing?” He hissed again, crawling to the edge of the bed to peer down at her.